


The Creatures of the Night

by RoseAngel



Series: The Red Thread [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Vampire, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fic, Vampire Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 13:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13366068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAngel/pseuds/RoseAngel
Summary: An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break. - Ancient Chinese beliefA series of alternate ways that John and Sherlock could have met. PROMPT FICPrompt #23: a first meeting where Sherlock is a vampire.





	The Creatures of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I apologise for the unintended hiatus. Being an adult is difficult. However, though I haven't managed to find time to post anything, I have managed to keep writing (I've currently drafted up to the 28th fic in this series), so I will try to keep to some sort of posting schedule for a little while.
> 
> Now, I do have a quick announcement to make. I currently have a total of 30 prompts. If you have sent any prompts up until today - 14th January 2018 - then it has been documented and will be posted. I am temporarily putting a cap on this story at this point - once I have written up to and including my 30th story, I will be taking a temporary break to work on a long fic (more on that later). If you have any other prompt ideas, do feel free to send them in, and I will either write them after the long fic or when I get writer's block and need to work on something else. Just be warned that it might be a bit later that I get to them.
> 
> Now, enjoy!
> 
> As always, a massive thank you to the amazing Becca (LlamaWithAPen) for making sure my writing actually makes sense.
> 
> Today's prompt comes from ArchiveOfOurOwn user Drag0nst0rm.

The sun is setting below the horizon. The red-orange light casts a warm glow over the streets, but the air feels cold. Soon it will be dark. They are coming.

John watches from the window of his bedsit, gazing out into the quiet streets below. During the day, the streets are never this quiet, not in a city like London. People walk their dogs; workers make their way to and from offices and Tube stations; cars and cabs block the roads. Now, people rush to make it inside before it gets dark. Parents take their children's hands, leading them back inside, ignoring those who cry and whine because they were not done playing. They do not understand. They are too young, too naive; they still believe that they are invincible, that the stories they hear would never happen to them.

John is safe here, inside his bedsit. The only guest he has ever had over is his doctor. His lock on the door might not be the best, but that does not matter. They cannot enter uninvited. John is safe inside.

It wasn't like this before John joined the army and was deployed to Afghanistan. It wasn't like this when John was in school, or university. He used to stay out late with his friends; sometimes he would walk home after midnight. There was always the risk that he would be hurt at night, by people who were drunk or high or just predisposed to violence, but those threats were always entirely human.

John didn't see his first vampire until he had joined the army. They had invaded Afghanistan before they invaded London. He didn't realise that the invasion had started back home until after he had returned, invalided home due to a bullet wound to the shoulder and a limp without a physical cause. He spent weeks recovering in hospital. He spent weeks watching patients be rushed in, suffering from extreme blood loss.

It changed things in London. It changed the way people acted, the things people did. Vampires could not enter the sunlight, so people felt safe during the day, but at night, things were different. People stopped staying out late. Shops started closing earlier; people started working shorter hours so that they could get home before dark. If there was too much work to do, if people had to work an extra hour or so, they would end up sleeping in their offices. Even if the sun had only just set, it wasn't safe to head home.

The worst changes happened in the hospital. At first, they had continued in the way that they always had, letting patients in regardless of the hour. That was, until they made a mistake. It only happened once, but it was enough. They let a patient in after dark; they did not realise until it was too late that the patient was not human. Eight people were killed as a result.

So they stopped letting people in after dark. They stopped sending out paramedics to respond to night calls. It was awful, sickening, to think that if someone was hurt at night, they were forced to hold on until sunrise or they were simply left to die. Yet, it was a sacrifice that people were willing to make, because it was the only way they could ensure the safety of the paramedics and nurses and doctors and the other patients. They chose to prioritise the many over the few. It was their only choice – or that was what they chose to believe, so that the choice was easier to make.

The sun sinks below the horizon, casting a shadow over the street. The London that John once knew – always bustling with energy, loud even in the middle of the night – is gone. Now, the night is still.

John watches from the window, as he does at sunset every night. He does not know why he bothers. He knows that they are out there, even if he does not see them. They are always there, watching and waiting for someone careless enough to leave the safety of their homes.

There is a flicker of movement in the shadows. John leans closer to the window to see. He can just make it out in the shadows. It almost looks human, but John knows that it is not.

He watches as it moves through the streets. It sticks to the shadows, hiding, but John can see it every time it is forced to move beneath a street light. It moves with an odd sort of gracefulness.

When it steps into the light, John can make out some of its features. Pale skin, dark hair. Male, John thinks, but John cannot bring himself to consider the creature as a 'he'. It does not deserve to be given any sort of humanity, even in the way John thinks of it. It is not human. It is a monster.

The creature turns its head towards the window, and for a second, its eyes lock with John's.

John pulls the blinds shut tight.

OoO

John left work a little bit later than usual on Tuesday afternoon.

It was no more than ten minutes later, but it was enough for John to miss the Tube he usually takes. Maybe John would have made it if he had run for the station, but he can hardly do that when he limps and he relies on a cane just to walk. By the time he reached the station, he finds his Tube has already left; he caught the next one fifteen minutes later.

Fifteen minutes wasn't a long wait, of course, except when you take into consideration the fact that it is winter, and it is cold, and most importantly, the sun sets only shortly after four o'clock in the afternoon.

In the summer, the clinic stays open later, because the sun does not set until after eight in the evening. In the winter, however, everyone closes up early, to give themselves enough time to get home safe before sunset. Usually, John gives himself enough time; he is safely within his bedsit before it gets dark. Today, he has not given himself enough time. He sits on the Tube, drumming his fingers on his knees, and he knows he isn't going to make it home in time.

Maybe he should have caught a cab. Maybe, the moment he realised that he had missed his usual Tube, he should have exited the station and hailed a cab. It would have cost him more, yes, but it would have been better to pay than to lose his life. However, John knows that the chances of finding a cab at that time of afternoon would have been slim. Even if there had been one out there, the driver might not have been willing to drive John home, if it meant that the driver himself would not have had enough time to get to his own home before dark.

It is too late to worry now. The only thing that John can do is hope that the sunset is just that little bit later today, that he might have just enough time to get home.

He knows better than to really hold onto this sort of hope.

The Tube is almost empty. It must always be, at this time of day. Everyone else has already rushed home, having left work earlier or caught earlier transport. The handful of people who are on the Tube with John must be people who are going to get off soon or do not have to walk far from the station to get back to their homes. Or, perhaps, like John, they left it too late, and they know that they might not make it home tonight.

The Tube comes to a stop at John's station, and he rushes to his feet. Now, John is in control of the speed at which he travels. Given the time, he might very well need to try to run.

The station is quiet. John does not have to push his way through crowds of people. He hoists his bag over his shoulder and rushes up the stairs into the light.

Or, at least, into what's left of the light. It is dusk. The last of the sunlight sends a purple glow over the streets. It would be beautiful, if it weren't so dangerous. John cannot stop to appreciate the beauty of it.

He moves as quickly as he can manage.

As a teenager walking home at night, John knew to stick to the crowded streets and not take shortcuts through dark alleyways, because it was safer. Now, there is very little difference between the quiet alleyways and the main streets. John sticks to the main streets out of habit more than anything else, but it won't make a difference. If something happens, he doubts anyone will come to his rescue, even if they are close enough to hear him scream.

There's a sound behind him. It's only slight, but John is on high alert. He has always been hypervigilant, since he came back from Afghanistan. He cannot enter a room without almost instinctively taking in his surroundings. Within five seconds of entering, John has worked out if there is anything in the room that could be used as a weapon – either by John or anyone else – and any escape routes. He does this even in places like his therapist's office, or a cafe, even though he knows he is safe. Right now, however, he knows that he is  _not_  safe, and it gives him even more of a reason to be hypervigilant.

John whirls around in the direction of the sound, but there is no sign of a person – or a creature – behind him. John cannot say for certain what the sound was. It could have been a footstep, but maybe it was just an animal, or a piece of rubbish blowing in the breeze. Maybe John is safe.

He does not let his guard down. He turns around and keeps walking, eager to get home before –

Again.

This time, there is no doubt in John's mind that he heard a footstep, and he knows better than to hope that it's another innocent human being out tonight.

He walks faster, wishing he had taken his gun with him to work. Of course, he couldn't really take a gun to the clinic, and he should not  _want_  to take a gun to a clinic, but he would feel much safer with it pressed against the small of his back. If humans were the only threats to John's safety that were out this evening, he would be fine, because John's instincts are fast and he is capable of hand-to-hand combat. Against a vampire, however, he has no chance. Vampires are faster than he is. He would be dead before he could so much as throw a punch.

There's another sound, this time coupled with a shadow overheard. John turns his head and looks up in time to see a figure on the building above him. The creature is on the roof.

John breaks into a run. He's only a couple of minutes from home now; he has to make it. He does not want to die here, out in the street outside his bedsit.

Out of nowhere, a figure leaps in front of him, causing John to skid to a stop. White fangs shine in the vampire's mouth. The expression on the creature's face is bloodthirsty. It blocks John's path, stopping him from getting home, and though John's body tenses in preparation for an attack, his mind has already given up. There is no way he is going to survive this. It's over before it has even begun.

But then, before he can think, a second creature barrels into the first from the side, knocking it to the ground. There's no way a human could have moved that fast, so it has to be a second vampire. The two creatures fall to a ground in a heap, rolling around as they each try to pin the other down, to keep control of the situation. John does not stand around to watch the fight. He does not fancy being killed by the second vampire when the fight is over.

He sprints past the two fighting vampires as fast as he can manage and rushes to his front door. His keys are in his hand and ready to go. He shoves it into the lock, turns it, throws himself through the door and slams it shut behind him.

Safely inside his bedsit, John slumps back against the door, suddenly feeling drained of energy. His heart is pounding against his ribcage, and he feels like he can barely breathe, but he is safe. By some miracle, he is alive.

Another vampire saved his life. He doubts this was the vampire's intention; no doubt it was only a case of two predators fighting over their prey, and John would have been killed by whichever had won if he had stayed back to see the fight through to the end. All the same, John is relieved that he is alive. He is lucky that the second vampire turned up when it did.

He pushes himself up from his front door, and it's only as he straightens that he realises he doesn't have his cane with him. He had it when he left work, but he cannot remember taking it off the Tube.

There isn't as much as a hint of pain in his leg.

OoO

John wakes to the sound of screaming.

Such violent starts are, unfortunately, not uncommon. Ever since John returned from Afghanistan, his nights have been plagued with horrendous dreams. He dreams of screaming and gunfire, of getting shot, of failing to save his friends from bleeding to death before it is too late. Sometimes, he dreams of the bodies they found completely drained of blood, with no more than a bite mark or two on their skin. These dreams are the worst, because although John left the gunfire and the sand behind in Afghanistan, the monsters are still here in London.

Normally, when John wakes up, the screaming stops.

This time, it does not.

It's disorienting to be startled awake so suddenly. John lurches upright with such force that the world spins in the darkness. He takes a second to reorient himself, but he does not give himself long. The screaming has not stopped.

He drags himself free of the tangle of sheets that are restricting his movement, shoving them off his bed as he climbs free. He rushes for the window, throws open the blinds, and looks out into the street below – a street that, at this time of night, should be empty. It is not empty tonight. Tonight, below John's window, there is a woman. No, not a woman – a girl, a teenager.

She should not be out this late at night. She should know better. And yet, John cannot bring himself to turn a blind eye to the sounds from the street below. She is a child. She does not deserve to be hurt.

John acts without thinking. He does that a lot.

He grabs his gun from his bedside drawer, and he rushes out and into the street.

At first, he cannot see the girl who was rushing past his window moments before, and he fears he might be too late. The creature – for undoubtedly a creature was the cause of her screams – might have caught up to her, taken her far from here, far from where John could rescue her. However, then there is another scream, coming from an alleyway nearby, and John rushes towards it.

He does not waste his time trying to be quiet. Dealing with a vampire means that he will never have the element of surprise, no matter how hard he tries. Rather than trying to sneak, he needs to rush, to get there as quickly as he can before he is too late. He rounds the corner, gun held in front of his body, and there he can see her. The creature has caught her; its arm is wrapped around her torso, restricting her movements and preventing her from escaping. Its face is by her neck. Its hair shields the view from John, but John knows from the way that the woman's eyes roll back that it is biting her, drinking her blood. John does not know how much blood she has already lost.

He raises his gun and points it at the vampire's head. "Hey!" he yells to get the creature's attention, and its head snaps up towards him. There is blood on the woman's neck, dripping from a bite wound. There is also blood on the creature's chin.

The creature snarls, the sound animalistic, and it drops the woman carelessly onto the ground and disappears into the darkness, faster than John can blink.

John does not try to chase it. Instead, he rushes toward the woman, dropping to his knees beside her. One hand flies to the wound, pressing against it to stop the bleeding. It's not deep, he is relieved to find, but that does not mean she has not lost a lot of blood already. His other hand searches for a pulse, and there is a very brief moment of relief when he finds it. She is conscious, but she is weak, and out here they are sitting ducks.

John wishes he could call an ambulance, because there is only so much that he can do to help with the first aid equipment that he has at his bedsit. However, he knows better than to waste time trying. No one will come to their aid at this time of night. He needs to get the girl inside, to safety, and then he needs to find a way to keep her alive until sunrise.

"Can you stand?" he asks gently, already trying to put an arm around the girl's back to support her. She manages to nod, and weakly, with John's support, she gets to her feet.

Then there is movement – a sound behind them that makes John freeze. He gives the girl only a second to steady herself before he stops supporting her. In the same movement, he whirls around and raises the gun that is still in his hand, pointing it at the source of the noise behind them.

John is fast, but he isn't fast enough.

The vampire that made the noise behind him is not alone, and John does not realise this until it is too late. Even as John is levelling his gun, another of those creatures is rushing at him from behind. It knocks the gun from his hand, and he makes a grab for it, but too late. The second creature kicks the gun along the ground to the first, who puts its foot on the gun to stop John from retrieving it.

The girl behind John is still standing. Perhaps it's the adrenaline that has given her the strength she needs. John knows she must be terrified. She stands close to John. The second vampire, who is not guarding John's gun, is pacing in slow circles around them. These creatures are said to have far stronger senses than a human being. John knows it will be able to hear the way his heart is racing.

John already knows he isn't getting out of this alive. The idea of him managing to overpower two vampires and live to tell the tale is unimaginable. However, there is a small chance that he might be able to get the girl out of here. At least then he will have done something. One of them surviving is better than nothing.

He does not bother to whisper. There is no point – the vampires will hear either way. Instead, he looks over his shoulder at the girl and says, "Flat's across the street. Door's open." Then, before anyone else has time to react, he lunges for the gun.

It has the desired effect. John knew he had no chance of getting the gun, but for a second, he manages to get both of the vampires to focus on him. The vampire who had been pacing in slow circles around John and the girl dives after him, and it gives the girl her chance to escape. John cannot watch to see if she gets away safely. He can only hope that she does.

The vampire knocks John to the ground, and he rolls along the concrete. He doesn't even feel the pain, not with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He scrambles to his feet, but he knows it is no use, because the vampire has knocked him further into the alleyway, closer to the wall. There is nowhere for John to go, nothing he can do to escape.

The vampire stands barely a metre in front of John, removing any chance of John being able to get past and run for safety. He hopes the girl is alive. He hopes she can make it through the night, until someone can help her.

The vampire snarls, lips curling back to reveal sharp, pointed fangs, and John knows that it's over.

But it's not.

Faster than John can process, two pale hands come from behind the vampire, resting on either side of its face. They turn, sharply, and there's a sickening  _crack_ , and the vampire crumples to the ground. For a moment, John cannot tear his eyes away from the form on the ground, twisted and distorted in a way a body should not be, but then he hears a snarl. The newcomer – another vampire – has gone for the remaining vampire as well. John can barely follow the fight, it moves so fast before his eyes. He can hear hisses and snarls and other such animalistic noises, and the vampire and its attacker tumble, knocking one another to the ground and then flying back to their feet. It's somehow both graceful and brutal, the two bodies seeming almost weightless as they near-effortlessly return to their feet.

John gaze flickers to the ground, and he sees his gun, abandoned by the vampire in the fight. He glances once more at the two creatures, and then rushes for the gun.

Behind him, John hears a thump, which he can only imagine is the sound of a body hitting the ground. The snarls have stopped. John does not know who won, who is still standing. He grabs the gun and turns around, raising it in front of him in the same movement.

The creature standing before John is a vampire, but not one of the two who had been after John and the girl before. This vampire is taller, paler – if that's even possible for a vampire. Perhaps it's the contrast between his pale skin and the dark mop of curls on its head. It looks vaguely familiar. John thinks he must have seen it before. He aims his gun at the creature's heart.

The vampire does not look threatened, even with a weapon pointed directly at him. If anything, it looks bored. Its gaze flickers to the gun, and it drawls, "Oh, please. Put the gun down. Isn't it obvious that I'm on your side?"

The voice is surprisingly human. John had never considered the possibility that vampires could talk, or otherwise make sounds other than the hisses and snarls that John has heard when they fight. He does not lower the gun.

"I didn't think vampires took sides with anyone but their own kind," he says.

"Do not lump me in with the rest of my kind," says the vampire. "The fact that I just saved your life – for the second time, might I add – should be enough to put your tiny mind at ease."

"Second time?" John repeats, and the vampire lets out something that might be a sound of amusement, or perhaps a scoff.

"Did you think it was by pure chance that you managed to return to your little flat unharmed the last time you decided it was a good idea to take a walk out in the streets after dark?"

John blinks in surprise. He remembers walking home, or running home, from the Tube station that evening. He remembers the sound of the fight behind him, which had given him the precious moment he needed to get to safety. If this vampire is telling the truth, then John owes the creature his life, twice over.

He finds he is not reassured by the discovery. Instead, he asks, "How do I know you didn't just save my life so you could kill me yourself?"

The vampire sighs. "Trust issues," it mutters, seemingly more to itself than to John. "Should have figured as much." Louder, it says, "If I wanted you dead, then I assure you, you would already be dead. If I intended to cause you any sort of harm, or to feed from you, I'd have disarmed you by now. Really, it's quaint that you think a gun is enough to protect you." A beat, and then it looks towards the two fallen bodies of the other vampires, before returning its gaze to John. "A snapped neck is not enough to kill a vampire. I suggest you start moving before these two wake up."

John hesitates, but then he lowers his gun. The vampire does not take advantage of this to attack John.

He looks back at the other two vampires, collapsed on the ground. Their necks are twisted into unnatural positions. If they were human, there would be no question that they were dead. John cannot imagine what it will look like when they wake up. He does not want to wait around to see it.

He turns his attention back to the other vampire. "Why did you do that?" he asks. "Save us? Won't you have just painted a target on your own back now?"

"Probably," the vampire says, "but it's hardly as though I've gotten on with the rest of my kind previously. And, unlike you, I stand a chance of fighting my own kind off. Now..."

John looks back at the other two vampires, as though he expects to see them moving. When he looks up again, the other vampire – the one who John owes his life – is gone.

He does not waste time waiting around. He turns, and he makes his way swiftly through the street to his bedsit.

He pulls open the door, steps inside and closes it behind him, shutting himself in the safety of his own home once more.

When he turns, he discovers that he is not the only person in his bedsit. John's heart leaps into his chest, his body immediately preparing for another fight, but it only takes him a second to realise that the person is not a vampire, or a threat. It's the girl. She made it to safety, to his bedsit. She is shaking, and staring at John with wide eyes.

"You're alive," she breathes, and then John sees her eyes roll back. Perhaps it's the blood loss, or simply the shock. John steps forward and catches her before she hits the floor.

OoO

John manages to keep the girl stable, and alive, until sunrise. She drifts in and out of consciousness, and there are several times when John fears she will not make it, but somehow, by some miracle, she pulls through. John calls an ambulance at the crack of dawn, and the moment sunlight is shining over London, they come. They load the girl into the ambulance, and John insists that he come along, partially because he is a doctor and he might be able to help, and partially because he has been with this girl all night, and even though she is a complete stranger to him, he wants to see that she is okay.

He waits in the waiting room while they rush her in for an emergency blood transfusion, and he can only hope that he did enough, keeping her stable until she could have proper medical attention. She might be lucky. The fact that she was conscious when John first found her is a good sign. She can't have lost that much blood.

She does pull through, by some miracle. The nurse comes down to see him when they have managed to stabilise her, to let John know that she will be all right, and that he probably saved her life.

The name she gives is Kitty Winters. As far as they can gather, she's an orphan. She has no one else, no parent or next-of-kin who she can call. It makes John's heart ache for her. She's so young, and she's on her own, with no one to support her after such a traumatic ordeal. John doesn't want her to feel like she's alone, and he cannot help but be invested in her life now, after staying up for half the night trying to keep her alive. So, when the nurse tells him that, though she might not be conscious, he can go up and see her, he decides to do just that.

She is awake when he reaches her room, but she's weak, clearly exhausted. Still, when John steps through the door, a small smile comes over her face. "Hi," she says quietly.

"Hey," John says. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay," Kitty says, which John knows means that she's not actually feeling okay at all – how could she, after what she's just been through? – but she's tough enough to try to hide it. She continues, "The doctor said you saved my life."

John waves the statement away with a dismissive hand gesture. "The doctor saved your life. I was just able to get you to them."

Kitty shakes her head a little. "You saved me," she says with certainty. "You didn't have to leave your flat, where you were safe, but you did. Why?"

"I couldn't just let you die," John says. After a moment's hesitation, he takes a seat on the edge of her bed. "Why were you out last night? Surely you know how dangerous that is."

Kitty looks down at the bedsheets that are drawn up over her lap. "It wasn't safe for me inside, either," she says, and John knows that the look on her face says that he should not push her any further than that.

They continue to make conversation for around half an hour – ranging from conversations about Kitty's background (though John notices that she definitely seems to be withholding information, and he doesn't try to push her) to the more heavy conversations about what had actually happened last night. Kitty asks how John survived, and John cannot give her an easy answer. He survived because a vampire saved his life. He can hardly believe that himself.

After a while, John notices that her eyes are beginning to droop, and he decides that he should let her sleep. She's too tired to even argue. She will be in hospital for a few days while they monitor her condition – after all, few people are lucky enough to survive a vampire attack, so they hardly know what to expect – and John promises that he will come and visit her when he can. If she truly does not have any family or friends here, the least John can do is help to make her feel less alone.

He steps out of her hospital room and goes to make his to the elevator when –

"John? John Watson?"

He turns around at the sound of his name, and though it takes him a second, he recognises the man who has spoken. "Mike!" he says in surprise. He hasn't seen Mike Stamford in ages – not since he was here studying to become a doctor. It feels like another lifetime. He clasps Mike's extended hand with a smile. "How have you been?"

"Good, good," says Mike. "How are you? I didn't know you were back in London. I thought you were off somewhere getting shot at."

"I got shot," John says, and then he clears his throat and changes the subject quickly. "What are you doing nowadays?"

"Teaching, actually," says Mike. "Bright young things like we used to be. Bit of a different world now, isn't it, with the vampire business."

"You're telling me."

Mike pulls up his sleeve to check the time on his wristwatch. "I have some time before my next class. Fancy a coffee?"

Given that John managed no more than a couple of hours of sleep last night before he was awoken by the sound of Kitty screaming, coffee sounds fantastic. "Love to," John says, and Mike beams.

"Great. Left my coat in the lab – come down with me?"

They make their way through the hospital to the lab. It's strange for John to enter the teaching part of the hospital, now. In some ways, it's familiar, because he remembers spending hours here as a student, studying through the night. Yet, it's so different now – not just because of the vampires, and the way the world has changed because of them, but also because of how far technology has come in a relatively short period of time. It's strange how quickly the world develops.

They step into the lab, and Mike takes a moment to pack up his things before saying, "I might just pop to the loo – mind waiting a moment?"

John shakes his head, and Mike steps out of the door. In the otherwise empty lab, John looks over the equipment, reminiscing about times long past. He remembers a few nights spent in labs just like these, frantically trying to finish experiments and write up assignments. He wonders what it's like for students nowadays. If they stay late to finish an assignment, they can't leave the lab before dawn. He wonders if they just spend nights in the lab, because they could not get out of there before sunset, or if students are more inclined to study at home now, to finish their work early so that they can get home safe.

The door creaks open behind John.

"That was fast," John says, and he turns around.

The person behind John is not Mike.

Nor is it human.

Instinctively, John stumbles a few steps backwards, but he knows it to be useless. He can only put so much distance between himself and the vampire in the lab, and if the vampire wants him dead, he'll be dead regardless of whether he is directly in front of the creature or on the opposite side of the room.

The vampire in question is the same one from last night – the one who had saved John's life. It has the same bored expression on its face when John steps backwards. Maybe boredom is its default expression. It says, "Oh, please. Did we not conclude last night that I have no intention of harming you?"

"How the Hell did you get in here?" John asks. "I thought you couldn't enter without permission."

"I have permission," the vampire says. "One of the pathologists here let me in."

"Why?"

"Because I asked her to."

"Why?" John asks. "What does a vampire want with a hospital?" He pauses, and then he says, "This isn't where you get blood from, is it?"

"Would you rather I get it from living humans?" the vampire asks. "I'd have thought that you would see that the idea of me getting blood that has already been donated would be preferable to me searching for an unsuspecting human who was careless enough to leave home at night. Regardless, my access to the blood in this hospital is not the only reason why I've been allowed in here."

"Then why?"

"It's a place for me to stay, out of the sunlight during the day. Plus, it gives me access to any equipment I might need."

John frowns. "Equipment?"

"Microscopes. Computers. Chemicals."

"What does a vampire need with all of that?"

"I need some way to pass the time during the day," the vampire says. He then changes the topic before John can continue with this line of questioning. "How's the girl?" he asks.

John hesitates, but decides to answer honestly. "Stable," he says. "It looks like she'll pull through." He pauses for a moment, and then asks, "She won't turn into a vampire, will she?"

"Of course not," the vampire says, his tone of voice telling John that that was probably a stupid question. John can't be blamed for asking stupid questions; no one knows that much about vampire biology. How can they? Anyone who gets close enough to one usually ends up dead. The vampire continues, "It's not enough to merely drink a human's blood to turn them. The human needs to drink from the vampire as well to complete the cycle. No, the venom will have already left her system by now, and she will make a full recovery, as long as she doesn't die of blood loss first."

John is fairly certain she won't die of blood loss now. "Okay," he says. "Good." After a beat, he asks, "Why did you do that? Save us?"

"I could ask you the same thing," the vampire says. "Why did you leave the safety of your own home to save her?"

John shrugs his shoulders. There isn't a simple answer for that. It was not like he spent time making a decision; it was almost as though he acted on instinct. One moment he was inside his flat, and the next, he was out on the street, searching for the source of the scream. He says, "I couldn't just let her die."

"And yet you question my motives," says the vampire, "rather than assuming that they might be the same as yours."

"Well, yeah," John says. "I mean... she's human. We're human. Why would a vampire save humans?"

"It's ignorant to assume that we are all the same," the vampire says. "We were all humans once. There is as much variation within my kind as there is within your own."

"But because of your kind, my kind cannot leave the house at night anymore," John points out. "You might be the exception to the rule, but you kill humans far more than humans kill each other."

"Do we?" the vampire asks. "You were a soldier. A military doctor, if I'm not mistake. All that death and destruction that you witnessed – was that not the result of humans killing other humans?"

John blinks. "How do you know I was a military doctor?"

"The way you hold yourself screams military; the fact that you managed to keep the girl alive last night says you have had medical training. Afghanistan, I'd assume."

"How did you know  _that_?"

The vampire's lips pull upwards into a smile, just enough for John to see a flash of fangs. "Consider it a lucky guess," he says – and John finds he cannot continue to think of the creature as an 'it', after last night. The vampire then tips his head to the side, listening – to what, John cannot say. After a beat, the vampire says, "Enjoy the sunlight, Doctor," and then he rushes from the room, the movement so fast it is almost as though he disappeared into thin air.

"Wait—" John says, but the vampire is already gone.

A second later, the door swings open again, and Mike steps back into the room. "Who were you talking to?" he asks, picking up his coat from where he left it on the back of a nearby chair.

John looks towards the door as it swings shut after Mike. "No one," he says.

OoO

John sits by his window, gazing out into the darkened street below. He can feel the pressure of his gun against the small of his back, where it is tucked into his waistband. There is something reassuring about having it there, even though he knows it might not be enough to protect him.

He has done this for days now; sitting by the window after dusk, searching for the sign of movement from not just any vampire, but the one vampire he wants to see. He has looked towards the shadows, fallen asleep by the window after hours of waiting without seeing what he wants to see. Tonight, this ends. He has a plan.

It's a risk. It's insane. But the idea sparked in John's mind, and he hasn't been able to dismiss the thought since.

It might not work, John knows, but he has a good feeling about it nonetheless. He thinks he's read the situation right.

He hopes he has read the situation right.

He takes a deep breath to compose himself, prepare himself, and then he makes his way to the front door, pushes the door open and steps outside.

The night is clear tonight. John can see stars above his head. It's beautiful, and it makes him miss the good old days of being able to go out at night like this. He cannot see stars from his own window. Many people won't be able to see stars anymore.

He leaves the door open behind him, so that he has an easy escape route. The last thing he needs is to be wasting time fiddling with keys and a doorknob. It's hardly as though anyone is going to enter through the open door – vampires cannot, and humans would not be out so late at night. John would be the only person crazy enough to do something like this.

He wonders what his therapist might say if she knew what he was doing tonight.

He pointedly does not think about it.

He pulls his gun from the waistband of his trousers, because he feels safer with it in his hands. He takes a few steps away from the door. He strains his ears for any sound – movement, footsteps, a rustle of clothing, anything. If this goes wrong, then he isn't going to have a great deal of warning. He needs to be on high alert at all times.

He doesn't move far from his bedsit. Leaving the door open to give himself an escape route is pointless if he cannot get back there quickly. He stands in the middle of the street, only a few metres from his door, and he waits, quiet, patient, for...

"Do you have a death wish?"

John whirls around at the noise, but he recognises the voice and he knows not to raise his gun. The vampire standing behind John is exactly the one John had been hoping to see tonight. He is staring at John with an expression of bemused incredulity on his face.

The vampire continues, "Leaving the safety of your home to protect a young woman is one thing. This is pure idiocy. There is no reason for you to be out here tonight."

"I know that," John says, feeling strangely calm, "but I knew I was safe."

"How could you possibly be safe? You know as well as I do how dangerous vampires can be. You know they will not hesitate to drain you dry at the first opportunity."

"I know," John says again, "but I also knew that you wouldn't let that happen."

The vampire blinks, and for a moment, he is too stunned to speak.

John continues, "You've been protecting me. The night I was walking home from the Tube station, the night that Kitty got attacked, and even tonight, you're here within minutes of me stepping outside. Why?"

The vampire tilts his head to the side. He seems to be considering his answer. After a moment, he says, "You're interesting."

John scoffs. "I'm hardly interesting."

"I beg to differ." He pauses, looks over his shoulder briefly, and then says, "I suggest you get inside."

John does not move. "If I turn around, you'll disappear again, won't you?"

"Your stubbornness will be the death of you."

"I'll go inside if you stay outside my door. I'm not done talking to you."

The vampire purses his lips, looking frustrated, but then he must hear something that is too quiet for John's human senses, because he glances over his shoulder and says, "Fine, but hurry up."

"Good," John says, and then he turns and returns to his bedsit. He steps through the doorway, but he does not close the door behind him. When he turns around, he is pleased to see that the vampire has not broken his promise. He stands on the step outside John's bedsit.

"Okay," John says, once he's safely inside. "I've hardly seen you around for a couple of weeks."

"I have more interesting things to do than walk up and down the same street every single night. If my time outdoors is limited, I am going to make the most of it."

"And yet, you were close enough to notice as soon as I stepped outside."

The vampire averts his gaze briefly, which makes John grin.

John continues, "Why are you protecting me?"

"Did I not already answer that question?"

"I'm not sure I believe your answer. Do you protect anyone you find interesting?"

"I find few people interesting."

John's lips pull upwards slightly. "Just me, then. Don't I feel special."

The vampire lets out a frustrated huff.

John continues, "It almost feels like you might be obsessed with me."

"Don't give yourself too much credit."

"I'm not."

"And don't make me regret saving your life."

John grins, because this conversation is essentially confirming what he already believed. The vampire before John has saved John's life more than once because the vampire, in one way or another, likes him.

For months, John had believed that these creatures were completely lacking of humanity. He had not even believed they were capable of speech, beyond the screeches and cries that John heard some times at night back in Afghanistan. In his head, the creatures were animalistic. They lacked the ability to think consciously, to have feelings, to care. He had believed them to be nothing more than mindless, blood-sucking monsters.

The vampire before him was either a major exception to the norm or, more likely, John had been wrong. This vampire, despite the unnaturally pale skin and the flash of fangs that John catches every time the vampire smiles, seems so human. He has emotions, has the ability to care, to be fond of someone. Fondness, and love, had always seemed to John to be such a distinctly human emotion.

"Seriously though," John says. "Thank you for saving my life. More than once."

"Do not expect me to continue to do so if you do reckless things such as leaving your flat at night simply to talk to me."

"I didn't know how else to get in touch with you. I'd tried waiting until you turned up outside my flat, but you were never there."

"So you risked your life simply to say hello."

"As I said, I knew I was safe."

The vampire stares at him for a moment, and then he shakes his head. "There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity, you realise."

"I know that," John says, and he leans against his doorframe. "I don't even know your name. You've saved my life, and we don't know the first thing about each other."

"Well, that's not entirely true," the vampire says. "As I've pointed out previously, I know you were an army doctor in Afghanistan. I know that you were invalided home as a result of an injury – your left shoulder, I'd assume. You also had a limp when you first returned, but that disappeared rather abruptly the first time I saved your life, so it must have been psychosomatic. I know you studied in St Bart's with Mike Stamford, I know you currently work at a surgery in central London – and I can assume you must find that utterly tedious, compared to the thrill of Afghanistan. That's a start, don't you think?"

John stares. He had been startled when the vampire had first pointed out that John was an army doctor, but now he feels even more awestruck. "How did you know all that?" he asks, and the vampire grins, baring white fangs.

"I observed," He says, and then he takes a step away from the doorframe. "Have a nice night, Doctor."

"Wait," John says before the vampire can disappear into the night. "You might know all these things about me, but I can't say the same about you. At least tell me your name."

"Sherlock Holmes," says the vampire, and then he is gone.

OoO

It was bound to happen eventually.

The vampires invaded London within the last few years. It was recent. Almost everyone in London now will be able to remember the good old days pre-invasion, when it was safe to go outside at night and there was no supernatural reason to fear for one's own life. It was only a matter of time before someone decides that enough is enough.

John wakes to the sound of yelling and of gunfire – once again, the sort of sound that does not stop when John opens his eyes. He thinks at first that someone has been attacked, that someone has been careless enough to leave the safety of their homes once more. However, as John's mind properly wakes up, he realises that this explanation does not make sense. He can hear gunfire. What need would a vampire have to kill someone using a gun?

Groggy and disoriented, John stumbles out of bed and to the window. What he sees immediately wakes him up, and sends a twisted sensation of horror flooding through his body.

He was right in believing that someone had been attacked. However, it just was not the way he thought. In the street below, there is a man with a gun – a human, presumably, because vampires have no need for such weapons. The gun is pointed at a figure in the street, and John immediately recognises that it is Sherlock.

It's hard to make out from the window, but it looks like Sherlock is clutching his arm, perhaps holding onto an injury. John cannot see any signs of blood, but maybe that's because he's not close enough, because it's too dark. He can see Sherlock trying to move through the streets, and he is moving fast – faster than the man with the weapon – but not as fast as John has seen him move, and not fast enough to outrun a bullet.

He sees Sherlock round the corner, and John rushes for another window in his bedsit to get a better view, but his windows are facing in the wrong direction and he cannot see where Sherlock has gone. He hopes that maybe Sherlock has managed to find shelter somewhere, hidden from the man with the gun. But then there is another gunshot, ringing out in the street below, and John knows that the man would not fire a gun without something to point it at.

He has to do something. He cannot turn a blind eye to this. Perhaps he is the only one who would do so; anyone else might hear the gunfire and think it was about time that they fought back. John cannot be one of those people. He cannot let Sherlock die.

Can Sherlock die? Can a vampire die? John isn't sure. He decides now isn't the time to think about that.

He has to do something. John owes Sherlock his life, more than once. Now it is time that he repays the favour.

He can't go out the front door. There's too much to risk. There could be other vampires out there, who take advantage of John's distraction. The person with the gun, as well, could be just as dangerous. There could be consequences for taking a vampire's side.

Instead, he moves to the back window– the window near the fire escape – and he pulls it open. He cannot see anything in the darkened street below, but he takes a chance. He's pretty sure vampires are supposed to have good hearing. "Sherlock," he hisses. "Sherlock."

There is movement in the shadows below, and then John sees Sherlock step out of the darkness. He is still clutching his arm.

Sherlock does not need an explanation or direction. He jumps and he grabs the fire escape ladder above his head with the arm he was not clutching. He pulls it down to his level – which is easy, given how tall he is – and he immediately scampers up to the window. When he reaches the top, he looks over his shoulder, perhaps because he is expecting to see the man with the gun behind him.

John pushes the window open wider and says, "Come inside, quick."

For a split second, Sherlock stares at him with a startled expression on his face, but then there is a yell from the streets below, and Sherlock does not need telling twice. John takes a step back to clear the way, and Sherlock grabs onto the windowsill and hoists himself through the window, falling to the floor of John's bedsit.

Sherlock does not stay down for long, however. He immediately scampers to his feet, hand returning to clutch at the same arm that he had been holding before. John, meanwhile, closes the window, and then the blinds, blocking the view from outside and locking them both into the safety of John's bedsit.

When he turns around again, Sherlock is staring at him like John has two heads.

"What?" John asks.

"You invited me in," Sherlock says.

"Yes, that was the idea."

Sherlock tilts his head to the side. "You do realise that there is no way to take back that invitation now, yes? There is nothing to stop me from coming into your bedsit whenever I please."

"Are you going to kill me in my sleep?" John asks, which makes a confused expression come over Sherlock's face.

"I wasn't planning on it, no."

"Then you're welcome to come in whenever you please."

Sherlock, it seems, doesn't have a response to that.

In the moment of silence that follows, John's gaze falls to Sherlock's arm, where he is still clutching at it. John cannot see any blood, but the way Sherlock is holding it makes it seem like he is in pain. John asks, "What happened to your arm?"

Sherlock looks down at it, and then he pulls his hand away. John can see that something has torn through the sleeve of Sherlock's clothing and lodged itself into his skin. Sherlock says, "Wooden bullets. I cannot heal around them."

John takes a step closer to get a better look, and then asks, "Will it heal if you get the bullet out?"

Sherlock nods his head. "I presume so. Granted, I've never had a wood injury before, but that's my understanding nonetheless."

"Okay," John says. "I'll go get my first aid kit, and we can see if we can get the bullet out."

The same confused expression returns to Sherlock's face. "You're going to help me?" he asks.

"Why is that a surprise to you at this point? I'm fairly certain you don't have any vampire doctors you can go to, and human doctors might not be so likely to treat you like a normal patient."

Sherlock's gaze flickers between John's eyes, like he's trying to read something there. After a moment, he says, "You're a very strange human."

The words make John's lips pull upwards into a smile. "And you're a very strange vampire," he says, and he thinks he sees the ghost of a smile pull over Sherlock's lips in return.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed my vampire Sherlock, please check out An Unusual Association - it's a different universe to this one, but it does star vampire Sherlock, and also a werewolf John. The aforementioned long fic that I will be working on after this series will be an AUA sequel.


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